"Drop spindle's a bitch. Get a wheel." There, at the bottom, half a dozen skeins of a bulky wool blend with a hint of silk and maybe a little angora. Marcus' frown deepened as he tried to identify it for certain, trying to decide if he liked the colour. He dug the skeins out, spreading them on the floor, nodding slowly. "These." He liked the softness the angora gave the yarn, suspecting it would be a thick knit, soft against her skin. "I want these."
He looked over at Millicent, faintly glaring. "There're good books on spinning. But she learned from her mum." And he'd learned from his, and passed by her in technique.